


I Stabbeth Thee!

by dragonnan



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blood, Friendship with Childnishness, Henry could be a TITCH more sympathetic, Inappropriate Use of a Pencil, Naked and Ashamed, Other, Shawn Whump, Shawn getting unwanted female attention, Shawn getting unwanted male attention of the jealous meathead sort, Shawn is not amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: Another "Shawn gets himself whumped" short story - this time with nudity!  (You ask "why" and I say "why not??")





	

This was exactly why Shawn didn't date “taken” women. Okay, using the word “exactly” was a minor exaggeration as it implied the current scenario was one he could have somehow imagined playing out.

 

 _Nobody_ could imagine a scenario like this playing out. Not even some idiot claiming he was a psychic working for the Santa Barbara Police Department. Speaking of which, where the hell were those guys? They were supposed to show up whenever there was danger! Just because he hadn't been in a position to call them yet was incidental!

 

“GAAH!!” God, as if having that thing puncturing his side wasn't bad enough, the blunt shape made a sickening pop as it broke through the skin. He couldn't manage a follow up cry after that first scream either as that would have required breath, and his was currently vacating from his gaping mouth.

 

He'd known it wasn't a mistake when his client, Miss Moneypants Van Dern, had “accidentally” spilled her glass of red wine – managing to soak both his shirt and jeans in a sticky bath. Never-the-less, he'd accepted her offer to wash his garments for him in exchange for her ex-husband's silky bathrobe. Yeah, so he had a weakness there – he wasn't apologizing for that. He wished he was wearing it. He wished he was wearing... _anything_.

 

Mmmmm-owowowowOWOWOWWW!!!! “D-d-d-ude-MMM!!” Was that a whimper? Yeah, he was pretty sure that was a whimper.

 

As hard as the thing was rammed into the soft tissue just above his hip, extracting it from his body again was a bit too slow to be anything other than cruel. He could actually feel his new wound being tugged as two and a half inches of wood and lead was methodically twisted free once more.

 

“Please-j-just... j-j-just... no don't-AAAH!!” The man grunted as he slammed the splintered tip down again – impaling through skin and tearing into muscle. The blood that welled up and pooled from previous efforts felt cold beneath his body. It didn't help that he was already shivering – no amount of California sunshine was enough to make it through the walls and into an air-conditioned bedroom.

 

“Chris, STOP IT!”

 

Shawn hadn't stopped pushing at the form on top of him, his right hand leaving dark, smeary prints from the gouge in the center of his palm where he'd tried to block the first stab. That was also where the General number 2 pencil, currently being dragged from his abdomen, had busted off its finely honed tip.

 

He didn't date women with boyfriends or husbands – though his imaginings for why this was so always involved fists, guns, or knives. Not once had he thought he'd ever have anything to fear from the SAT tool of choice!

 

And yet, as his client's “not so former” husband (as he'd learned in a very regretful way) stabbed him again, he realized his criteria for what constituted “distasteful pointy things” had been a bit short sighted.

 

His arms were shaking. Scratchy carpet under his bare back was leaving him clammy where blood and sweat collected. It was getting harder to struggle.

 

“CHRISTOPHER!”

 

He only grunted as the pencil buried into him again. Then he woofed out all the oxygen in his lungs as there was a sudden smash of glass and water, followed by the man dropping limp across his body, and forcing the pencil deep into his gut.

 

“UUUUCK!!”

 

His jaw creaked as he opened it wide. Even without the forcefully vacated air he'd have remained frozen. Every muscle locked – impossible to move with the object penetrating his insides. The feeling of being crushed only lasted a few seconds – easing when the enviously muscular form was rolled off his ribcage.

 

Then another form dropped on top of him.

 

“Are you okay? Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Oh no, you're bleeding!!”

 

Shawn hissed something that started out a laugh but drizzled off into a long whine. At least his heel wearing heroine backed off and let him suck in that sweet, sweet first breath – only to hack it out again while his abdomen clenched and burned. God, he could feel the pencil moving with every cough!

 

The heels thumped as Kitty (really? He still had trouble accepting that her parents willfully named her that) ran out of the room. Now that breathing was becoming less of a thing he had to consciously participate in, Shawn found himself returning to the state he'd been in pre-stab. Humiliated.

 

The bathrobe he'd intended to wear had never actually made it to his body. It was still laid out on the bed where he was supposed to have changed in privacy after stripping his stained clothes. Only, when he'd emerged from the bathroom in just a pair of boxers, he hadn't been alone. Kitty had lived up to her name by pouncing the moment he'd appeared – her fingers grasping his boxers and stripping them so fast he'd pondered, in the moment of panic, if she'd possibly worked in the adult industry.

 

He'd known it was ridiculous. It was porno cliche' at its worst. Cameras and a Marvin Gaye soundtrack wouldn't have surprised him.

 

It was about then that her ex (not quite so _ex_ as she'd claimed – they weren't even separated) had wandered in on the one-sided dalliance. Granted, it hadn't looked good. Shawn could accept that walking in on your half dressed wife with an undressed man friend probably created a single conclusion. The fact that the _man friend_ had been trying to fight his way free from little miss pervy's inch long lacquered red nails probably hadn't even registered as Mr. Pervy had charged across the room and grabbed the first weapon he'd found.

 

With one attacker sleeping beneath a smashed vase and the other one... somewhere... Shawn braced his right arm against the floor and pushed – his gasp a blunt sound of shock at how much the motion hurt. The muscle man was still partially draped across his legs, forcing Shawn to put extra effort into extracting himself. The pull across his abdomen was a burn only at first – then burst into ripping, throat-closing agony – every little flex twisting the buried weapon against his insides. Impaled to the chewed eraser nub a few inches beneath his navel, Shawn had no doubt where the pencil had been aimed. In spite of missing the target (thank God, thank God...) pain still radiated through his groin and thighs. He felt as though he'd taken a hard shot between the legs; his body reacting in much the same way, including the side effect of warm nausea.

 

He backed away until he felt something more or less solid behind him – the bed as it turned out. He wanted to pull a blanket across himself, both for warmth as well as to cover his bare parts. One hand wasn't enough of a shield as far as he was concerned. And as much as he'd like to think that was a genetic point in his favor, it basically just made the situation that much more humiliating.

 

“Mmmmph...” Mr. Van Dern twitched in a disturbing way that meant he was probably waking up. Still no cops – still no Mrs. Van Dern either.

 

That's it, no more jobs this far out of the city! No matter how rich the client was, or how silky their robes, the risk outweighed the benefit two out of three times in his recent experience! He could console himself that the Van Dern's didn't own vicious attack dogs, but that really didn't mean a lot with nearly seven inches of graphite and splintered wood poking at his lower intestine.

 

“Mmm... Kitty?”

 

Shawn pushed against the bed but there was no way he could crawl further. He was already dizzy just sitting on the floor. Besides, if he hadn't punctured any organs yet, he definitely would if he kept trying to escape. Not that he could really go anywhere. Even if he got all the way downstairs, across the marble tiled foyer, and out the front door, there was still the complication of lifting one leg to board his bike. That wasn't going to happen. Standing wasn't going to happen.

 

There were small, panting breaths and a little dog scamper of heeled feet returning. It was a toss-up whether that was a good thing or not. Kitty had saved him from continued puncturing, and yet it was basically her fault he'd been punctured to begin with. It was also her fault he was naked and ashamed but that was neither here nor there cause her jealous hubby was still waking up.

 

“Kit?”

 

Kitty ran back into the room holding... a laundry basket? What, she suddenly needed to fold clothes?

 

“Baby! Oh sweetie I'm so sorry!” The basket thumped as she dropped next to her husband and cupped his face in her hands. He was still blinking through what Shawn hoped was a major concussion, but that didn't stop his wife from attempting to swallow his lower jaw.

 

Shawn stopped breathing with a broken hiss as a tiny shift throbbed outward from knees to throat. His little groan was enough to bring the attention away from the post-assault making out going on a few feet away. Kitty sat up and covered her lipstick smeared lips with her fingers.

 

“Mr. Spencer! I'm so, so sorry! This wasn't supposed to happen like this!”

 

Shawn's teeth were clamped together be he still managed speech. “What par-mmph – part? The b-bad touching or th-the attempted m-murder?” His teeth chatted – it was so cold!

 

Kitty's short-term memory was apparently on the fritz as she conveniently seemed to forget her little part in the drama as she dug into the laundry basket. “Chris is so possessive, the sweetheart. He just misunderstood!”

 

Misunderstood? As in, 'oops, my clothes fell off and you tripped into my pants'? And yet Mr. Gullible didn't seem to have a problem buying that. While Kitty pulled several items from the basket, he rolled to his knees and stared at Shawn.

 

“Oh man, I'm so sorry!”

 

They were reading each other's scripts, Shawn could swear he'd heard that apology more than once in the past few minutes.

 

Then Muscles started crawling his way and Shawn panicked – both feet digging into the floor as he shoved away. Pain stopped him in his tracks with one bad lurch and he yelped before crossing his arms in front of himself – though for protection, not modesty. Modesty went out the window when manic killers had you in their sights.

 

“Here babe, use this.”

 

Shawn squinted as Kitty passed a handful of white fabric into her husband's giant hand. And then he flinched as the hand moved towards his body.

 

“Wait – don't...” He shrank away, but without the ability to actually pass through the floor, he couldn't prevent the hands making contact once again.

 

“Urmph!” Oh crap-crap-GUUUH!! The man hadn't impressed him as delicate the first time they'd met and the first impression remained pretty damn dead on as sudden pressure made his vision gray out. It was a very awful realization to know the pain he was in could continue to get worse. Didn't people usually pass out by this point?

 

“NU! AHH!! AHHH!!” Stuttered screams were all he could manage as the other man bore down – crushing so hard he must have been trying to force the escaping blood back into Shawn's body.

 

“Ah damn – I didn't realize...” The big guy swore again as he moved the soft fabric to another wound. He must have thought that would actually stop the bleeding or something. Medical school was obviously not on his resume. That became even more clear when Shawn felt a finger prod at the nub of pencil still protruding below his navel.

 

“DUDE! STOP!” He couldn't help it that his voice came out so high-pitched, that shit hurt!

 

“Kitty!” The yell overshadowed the weak mewl Shawn expelled as the eraser tip was poked again. Protests weren't getting through at all, so the next step was fighting back. Motion was agonizing but he still swung an open-handed argument at wrists the size of baseballs.

 

“Damn! Quit it! Kitty!”

 

A couple of tears leaked out and he turned his face towards the side of the mattress in misery when slapping at the hands torturing him resulted in his wrists being restrained in a giant fist while the other hand resumed poking.

 

Kitty moved closer with a histamine triggering cloud of lilac perfume. “Here, this might work better... oh God, it's still in him!?”

 

Another peek brought into focus two people that epitomized 'with friends like that you don't need enemies.'. What in the hell was being held against his body? He blinked. “You have g-got to be k-kidding...”

 

Kitty folded up the silky nightgown (a fabric obsession he could totally understand, but this was just bonkers!) and added it to the flimsy lingerie already wadded against his abdomen.

 

Meanwhile, her husband continued his fascinated study of the embedded pencil.

 

“I think I should pull it out...”

 

Shawn was all for being depenciled (or was it unleaded? He had to remember to tell Gus that one), but not by this lunatic! Besides, he was pretty sure watching a few episodes of House didn't qualify one as a surgeon.

 

“I d-don't think...”

 

“Sweetheart, get me the pliers.”

 

Instant obedience as Kitty scampered from the room.

 

CRAP!

 

“No! Guys – g-guys, that wouldn't be the best idea – seriously, I think it's b-better if we, Mmph, we just wait for the cops...”

 

“You called the cops?” The big man gave a small tug on the pencil – likely to test how firmly it was lodged in place. Shawn was pretty sure several neighborhood dogs began howling along with him.

 

“No he didn't darling, I did.” The floral scented woman had returned again sometime during the screaming. Kneeling beside her husband like a good little nurse, she handed over a pair of needle-nosed pliers.

 

Mr. Van Dern grunted before nodding. “It's probably for the best. I overreacted.” He patted Shawn's arm. “I want you to know how truly sorry I am.”

 

Shawn licked his lips. “You do know that both of you are out of your minds, right?”

 

As accurate as his observation may have been, it was unfortunately ignored as Kitty rubbed her husband's back and even gave him a kiss before moving to Shawn legs to hold his ankles.

 

“Woah! Hey, I think this is moving a little fast guys! Guys! GuAAAHH!!! AHH-NUUH!!” He writhed under the hands holding him down as Van Dern tugged backwards on the pencil. He wasn't looking any longer but he could feel the resistance as his body jerked with each tug. Then his wrists were released. His hands rose to push back at the man's chest. Van Dern placed one hand against Shawn's belly. The other, still clamping the pliers around the end of the pencil, squeezed down tightly.

 

And with a single, violent yank, he ripped the pencil free.

 

 

 

/*/*/

 

 

 

 

“When they heard him scream, the cops thought Mrs. Van Dern was being murdered.”

 

Shawn winced as he pushed up on the couch. “Dude, why are you the one telling this story? You weren't even there!” He jerked at the blanket that was supposed to be keeping _him_ warm.

 

Gus smirked from the other end of the couch. “I didn't have to be there Shawn, it's all over the station.” He curled his hands around the blanket and yanked back.

 

“Well in spite of what you may have read in the internet, getting a pencil torn out of your body happens to hurt, a lot!” He grunted and pulled the soft fabric across his legs.

 

“I haven't even come to the best part yet!” Gus retorted, hauling back so hard that Shawn was pulled along with the blanket – wrenching his injuries and producing a clenched yelp.

 

Henry sighed, rolling his eyes as he walked from the room. Thirty seconds later he returned and plucked the shared blanket away and gave it to Shawn while tossing a new one at Gus. The two boys glared at one another before curling into their respective bundles.

 

Walking back to his chair, Henry lifted his coffee cup and took a long swallow. “Well... is there more to this story? You said you hadn't reached the best part yet.”

 

Shawn sighed. Here it comes. Gus was right about the whole station knowing about his ordeal. And he couldn't really deny that if he'd heard a story about some guy being stabbed by a pencil he'd have found it pretty darn funny. The fact that he'd been naked too... Not that anyone had openly laughed at him – yet.

 

He glanced at his friend. Gus had pulled his feet up and was stretching his legs across the cushions. His stocking feet were brushing against Shawn's toes. His friend looked back at him, and then smiled.

 

“Shawn figured out that Kitty Van Dern had been trying to get her husband sent to jail. It had to be a severe enough crime that he'd be locked away for a long time. With him out of the picture, she'd gain sole authority over their company, Van Dern Incorporated. Van Dern has a super short fuse so when he saw her with Shawn, he flipped out. She figured whether it was murder or attempted murder, she wouldn't be seeing her husband till she was drawing a pension.”

 

Henry tapped his hands on the arms of the chair. While his eyes were looking elsewhere, Shawn and Gus shared a stealthy fistbump.

 

Finally he pushed up from the chair. “I'm going to go fix us some lunch.”

 

He walked across the floor and was just about to step into the hall when he paused and looked back.

 

“Oh, and Shawn? Next time you visit a client's house, try to keep your pants on, okay kid?”


End file.
